


Punching Dragons

by msunitedstatesjames



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Light Angst, POV Cullen Rutherford, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Rogue Inquisitor - Freeform, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25863088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msunitedstatesjames/pseuds/msunitedstatesjames
Summary: Just some wholesome reunited Cullen and Mia content. Also includes a nice splash of wholesome Cullen/Inquisitor content.Cullen and Evelyn finally find the time to visit Cullen's family, but Mia has a bone to pick with her little brother.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	1. Punching Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> No actual dragons were punched in the making of this fic. Iron Bull Greatly Disapproves.

Cullen and Evelyn had arrived in South Reach just yesterday evening, much to his family’s delight. Everyone had been looking forward to meeting Evelyn, and she’d spent the evening charming the lot of them with tales of her adventures, while Cullen mostly sat back and chipped in the occasional comment when required. It was strange to be among his family again. He could almost imagine that he’d never left home at all. For a moment, he wished it was true. But for all the mistakes he’d made and the terrible things he’d seen, he never would have met Evelyn Trevelyan if he’d stayed safe at home, and she was something he could never regret.

Even his eldest sister, Mia, was fascinated by Evelyn’s stories of fighting dragons and Venatori, of beating back demons and closing up rifts. But that was no surprise. Evelyn and Mia had taken up correspondence recently, so they were already inclined to like one another. 

It was Cullen that Mia didn’t seem inclined to like. 

She’d greeted him when he arrived, hugged him fiercely, asked after their journey, and then wandered off with Evelyn in tow to show her around the property. She’d hardly spoken a word to him since, and he’d caught her more than once glaring at him icily from across the room. But he could guess the reason for her coldness, and he couldn’t entirely blame her for it.

He awoke even earlier than usual this morning, jolted from his sleep by one of the usual nightmares, exacerbated by the fact that he’d forgotten for a moment where he was. Evelyn had remained asleep. She’d stayed up late regaling Branson’s son with every dragon slaying story she had. So Cullen had left her to her slumber, hoping to walk off the echoing remnants of the nightmare still bouncing about his skull.

Cullen wasn’t the only person up before the sun. Mia stood in the kitchen, straw blonde hair braided back and a white linen apron hung neatly over her dress. She was pounding out the dough for the day’s bread. Cullen had made bread in the years before he’d joined the Order. It had been a while, admittedly, but unless memory failed him, she didn’t need to hit the dough quite that hard. He took a moment to wonder if she was pretending the bread was his face. 

“Did you need some help?” asked Cullen. He leaned against the nearest table, waiting. She didn’t bother turning to look at him.

“No. I’ve managed without you this long.” 

And there it was. He’d known they’d have to have this conversation eventually. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, wondering if there was anything he could say that wouldn’t make her fly into a rage. 

“I’m sorry about that.” A pause. “About not writing more often,” he clarified. “Or visiting.”

“Oh. You’re sorry.” Her tone was painfully saccharine. “Wonderful. Everything is all better now.”

He sighed. “I know you’re upset, Mia—”

“I’m upset?” She turned to him then, her brown eyes aflame. “I  _ mourned _ you. We all did. We thought you were  _ dead _ . More than once.” She stepped towards him and jabbed a finger into his chest. “Because you couldn’t be bothered to take a moment out of your day to write one sentence on a piece of paper and have it sent to your family.”

“You’re right.” He might as well let her vent. She certainly deserved it.

“And all that after we’d already lost our parents.”

“I know.”

“Rosalie was a wreck.”

“I’m sorry, Mia. Truly. If I could go back and change my behavior, I would. There’s a lot of things I would change.” If only she knew just how true that was.

She scoffed, but she deflated a bit. Then she looked at him, truly looked at him, for the first time since he’d entered the room. “You have a lot of nerve coming here, you know. Showing up at my house after fifteen years. Married. You don’t even look like the same person.”

“You do,” he said. She looked older of course. Though she was only in her mid-thirties, he could already see gray creeping into her fair hair. There were lines around her eyes and her mouth. He didn’t want to know how much he had contributed to any of that. But she was still as much a spitfire as ever and it showed.

She did something then that he probably should have expected. She punched him. It was only in the arm, and with the number of beatings he’d taken in training and in battles over the years, he hardly felt it, but still he was surprised.

Wincing, Mia shook her hand out. Apparently she’d hurt herself more than she had him. A result of poor form. He tried to stop the smile he could feel curling the edge of his lips. He wasn’t entirely successful.

“Bastard,” she hissed, turning away from him to nurse her hand.

“If you’re going to punch someone, you should—”

“ _ Don’t _ ,” she interrupted. Again she turned on him. “Don’t you dare try to lecture me on the proper way to punch someone. Not right now. Not unless you have a death wish.”

“You’re going to kill me now?” he asked. “I certainly hope you weren’t planning on punching me to death. Or at least I hope you had a secondary plan.” 

Cullen wasn’t the only one who couldn’t hide a smile. 

“See?” he said. “You  _ are _ happy I’m back.”

Mia sighed. “Of course I am. After all the years I spent worrying about you, if you’d gone and died on me I would never have forgiven you.”

“You’ve just been waiting all these years to punch me, haven’t you?”

“That and to beat you at chess again.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You think you can beat the Commander of the Inquisition in a game of strategy?”

“Just because I’m not as high and mighty as you are, Oh Great Commander, it doesn’t mean I can’t still whip you at chess.”

“I’m not high and mighty. I haven’t suddenly become a Lord, and thank the Maker for that.”

Mia puffed out her chest and deepened her voice. “ _ I’m the Commander of the Inquisition _ ,” she mocked. “ _ I’m married to the Inquisitor, the noble Lady Trevelyan _ .”

He crossed his arms. “I don’t sound like that. And she’s really not a proper noble.”

She sashayed about the room. “ _ I wear armor every day just so no one forgets how important I am _ .”

“If I was wearing armor right now, you would have broken your hand when you punched me.”

“ _ I’m too good to eat with the  _ common _ folk, so I have every meal carried to my personal tower on a golden tray by one of my attendants.” _

“The Inquisition didn’t waste it’s money on golden trays.” He paused. “What has Evelyn been writing in her letters anyway?”

Mia dropped the act she’d been putting on. “You might at least have invited me to the wedding,” she said.

“We were married in the middle of the Exalted Council!”

“You could have waited. Or married her before then. It’s not like you hadn’t known you wanted to marry her for ages. You’ve been gushing about her in your letters practically since the day you met.”

“I have not!”

“Cullen. The first time you mentioned her in a letter, you wrote three whole sentences about her. I knew you had to be in love.”

“You wrote three sentences about me? Cullen, I never knew you were such a romantic.”

Cullen almost jumped out of his skin. Every time he thought he’d adjusted to Evelyn’s silent way of moving about the world, she would appear out of the shadows like some wraith or he’d realize she’d been standing in the room with him for ten minutes without once catching his eye. He supposed he should be grateful for her stealth. It had kept her alive in more fights than he liked to think of, both before and after she’d joined the Inquisition. Still, he got the feeling she rather enjoyed creeping up on him.

“I certainly wasn’t _ gushing _ —”

“You were,” said Mia. “You said, and I quote,  _ The Inquisitor might be the most astounding woman I’ve ever met. _ ”

Evelyn wrapped her arms around him from behind and peeked over his shoulder. “I can’t believe it. He’s never once called me  _ astounding _ to my face,” she said.

He could feel his own face going red. Which was ridiculous considering Evelyn was his wife, and they’d been sharing a bed for years. 

“You’re blushing,” observed Evelyn. “Isn’t he just adorable?”

“I’m not adorable,” he grumbled. “I’ve commanded thousands of men in battle.”

“There he goes again,” said Mia. “Bragging about his military accomplishments. You must get bored. Does he know how to do anything else?”

“Not much else,” said Evelyn. “But there are a few things I can think of that he’s  _ quite _ good at.” She was practically purring, and Cullen didn’t like where this conversation was going.

“All right. I’m just going to—”

“You know,” said Evelyn, ignoring him, and refusing to let him escape, “I came out here expecting to see him get punched. I’m disappointed.”

“You wanted to see me get punched?”

The women seemed to be ignoring him entirely. “You must have just missed it,” said Mia. “And you won’t believe it, or maybe you will, but after I punched him he tried to  _ lecture _ me about my punching style.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“Cullen, when your angry sister punches you, you don’t take the opportunity to teach her a self-defense lesson.”

“You’re never too old to learn proper self-defense,” he argued.

Mia threw her hands in the air. “Unbelievable,” she said. She shook her head. “You really haven’t changed at all, Cullen.” But she was smiling. She studied the couple for a long moment. “I’m still a bit angry,” she said, addressing Cullen, “in case you were wondering. But I’m glad to see you happy.”

“Thank you, Mia,” he said. This conversation hadn’t gone quite as terribly as he’d expected. 

She looked at them for another few seconds. “All right,” she said, as if she’d just come to a decision. “If you’re going to stand around in my kitchen, I’m going to have to conscript you.” She pointed at a pile of vegetables. “Evelyn, I’m told you’re good with knives. I have some things that need chopping.  _ If _ that’s not too trying a task for a noblewoman such as yourself.”

Evelyn grinned. “I think I can handle it.”

“And you,” she pointed at Cullen. “Since you’ve commanded so many thousands of men, can you handle beating that dough into submission?”

“I should think so.”

“Wonderful.” She pulled the arpon from around her neck and slung it over Cullen. “While you do that, I’m going to go rest this hand.” She glared at him, as if it was his fault she’d punched him. Then again, maybe it was. 

She paused in the doorway. “And if you finish in a timely manner, maybe you’ll get the chance to teach me some of those self-defense methods you’re so concerned about. With the two of you around, we could have demons or darkspawn or Maker knows what else come bursting through the door any day now. If I’m to face down a dragon, I should at least have a proper punch prepared.”

When Mia was gone, they got to work. They’d only been at it for about a minute when Evelyn paused in her chopping. “I have to say, that was one of the best impressions of you I’ve ever seen.” So she had been listening before she made her appearance.

Then something occurred to him. “ _ One of _ the best? You’ve seen other people do impressions of me?”

Evelyn shrugged, suddenly focused again on her work. “You’d think people wouldn’t do impressions of you in front of me, but somehow everyone seemed to get the idea that I enjoyed them.”

“What do you mean everyone?”

“Sera started it. And then Dorian. Iron Bull.”

“Iron Bull did an impression of me?”

“It wasn’t bad actually. But Varric’s was the best.”

That insufferable dwarf. Of course. “The next time I see them . . .”

Evelyn laughed. He took a moment to resent the fact that her laughter somehow made him feel less annoyed. “You’ll do what?" she asked. "Reprimand them? Do you really think that’s going to help?”

He sighed, resigned. “I suppose not.” He thought a bit more about the situation. "You never . . .?"

"Of course not," she said. She looked perfectly innocent as she said it, which coming from a woman who'd built a career around killing countless people, monsters, and things somewhere in between, was alarming at best and extremely suspicious at worst.

And then, as if all of this information wasn’t mortifying enough, Mia called out from the other room. “You really have to introduce me to more of your friends, Cullen. I think we’d all get along splendidly.”

“Maker’s breath,” he muttered. He began to wonder if bringing together the two women he loved most in the world had really been such a good idea.


	2. The Tournament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rutherfords host a family tournament. Cullen and Mia continue their conversation about the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, this was supposed to be a one-shot. But I loved them too much and I had to write another chapter. Somehow this chapter is almost double the length of the first one.
> 
> Second, I did change the rating from General Audiences to Teen. There's some "adult language" in this chapter and the angsty portion is a little bit darker than last time.
> 
> Lastly, Branson's son is in this chapter, and since I don't remember him ever being given an official name, I named him Devon. Feel free to correct me if he does have an official name. I also introduced Branson's wife and decided to name her Rhea.

Cullen found Mia examining a wooden sword. She held it aloft, turning it back and forth, examining it critically as he might examine a steel sword. It was just the sort they had played with as children. Perhaps it belonged to Branson’s son, Devon. He was flooded with pleasant memories of their childhood, when Cullen had been an innocent little boy, desperate to be a knight, and his big sister had still been able to trounce him in a fight. That had changed quickly enough once the local Templars had taken him under their wing, but Cullen could still remember a time when he’d spent his days covered in bruises from Mia’s wild slaps with their toy swords. 

“Feeling nostalgic?” he asked. 

She smiled and dropped the sword to something almost recognizable as a proper stance, its point resting just above his heart. He raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t even do it!” she snapped, before he could say a word. “Don’t correct me on my form.”

“I thought you wanted to learn to defend yourself.”

“I won’t be taking any criticism from you today, and neither will anyone else. You’ll take all the fun out of it.” She strode for the door, sword still in hand. He couldn’t see anything to do but follow her.

“Out of what?”

“The Tournament.”

“What tournament?”

She paused. “It was Devon’s idea. He wanted to see Evelyn fight. We had a family tournament for him a few months ago. He suggested another one. Everyone else is already waiting outside.”

True to her words, the rest of the family was milling about in the yard, chatting idly around one of the kitchen chairs, which had at some point been dragged from the house. Devon was swinging another wooden sword about his head experimentally.  _ How long had they been planning this?  _

“Nobody said anything to me about a tournament.”

“That’s because you’re not invited to participate.”

“Why not?”

Mia took a moment to glare at him. “You’re the one who’s so fond of reminding everyone of your military achievements. The Inquisition may have disbanded, but I don’t think we need to blacken its name by having its former Commander knock a five year old boy into the dust in a sword fight.”

Cullen gaped. “You actually think I would do that? Besides, Evelyn has just as much— actually,  _ more _ experience in active combat than I do. You’ve heard her stories. For years she spent the majority of every day fighting off three or four different groups who wanted her dead.”

“But Evelyn hasn’t mastered the sword.” She glanced at his expression and snorted. “Don’t look so sad, Cullen. I have a different job for you.” 

As they approached the group, everyone bowed deeply. Everyone but Rosalie, who curtseyed with enough grace to match any noble lady. Cullen glanced at Mia. She’d straightened her shoulders and turned her nose up comically. 

“It is I,” she announced grandly. She raised the tone of her voice just enough to sound improbably snooty. “Queen Mia Rutherford, First of Her Name, Rightful Queen of This Territory.” She took a seat in the chair, her back perfectly straight and her legs crossed neatly. “I’ve brought you together today to fight a grand Tournament in honor of our visiting dignitary, The Former Inquisitor, Lady Evelyn Trevelyan of the Free Marches. Before you present yourselves to me, I’d like to take a moment to introduce to you my brother.” She gestured in an exaggerated manner towards Cullen. “This is Commander Cullen, head of my Royal Guard. He’ll be responsible for my personal protection today, as well as generally keeping the peace, and squashing any signs of treason.” She glanced significantly towards Branson, whose eyes widened in a show of innocence. Cullen took a moment to wonder how much time they’d all spent cultivating personas for this event, and when they’d found the time to do so.

He laughed. He couldn’t help himself. It was the most bizarre turn this day could possibly have taken.

Mia’s head snapped up. “Did you have something to say?” she asked. She fixed him with a glare that was even more menacing than her usual sort.

“Nothing,” he said.

“Is that how you address your Queen, Commander?”

“Nothing,  _ Your Majesty _ ,” he corrected, before taking his place by her right hand.

After everyone had presented themselves and their alternate personas to Queen Mia (everyone but Evelyn who already possessed sufficiently impressive titles without creating any new ones), the Tournament began in earnest. The first battle was between Branson (aka Lord Fairhurst, a troublesome noble who had apparently given Queen Mia no small amount of trouble in the past) and his wife, Rhea (aka Warden Ellian, a survivor of the Fifth Blight, whose opening salvo was “I beat back the darkspawn and now I’ll beat you”). It was a close match, though Rhea took it in the end. She delivered a rather savage blow to Branson’s knees and he tumbled to the ground. 

When he worked his way to his feet again, he was limping. “Maker’s breath, woman,” said Branson, eyeing his wife warily as she waved her sword about to the cheers of the family. He smiled wickedly. “If I hadn’t let you win . . .”

“You what?” She spun about, her sword lining up neatly with his face.

He held up his hands in surrender. “You won fair and square,” he said. 

“You’re right I did.” And she marched off.

Cullen smirked just as Branson looked his way. “Oh, and I suppose you could have done better?” asked Branson.

Cullen only looked at him expectantly. He would have liked to remind his brother that he’d been the Commander of the Inquisition, but he could feel Mia beside him just waiting for the opportunity.

Luckily, Branson seemed to get the picture. “Yes, all right,” he said. “No need to remind us all again what a  _ brilliant _ swordsman you are.”

“I could give you lessons if you’d like,” suggested Cullen.

“Oh, piss off.”

“You’re going to use that sort of language in front of your son?” called Rhea.

Branson froze. “You’re right, of course, dear.” He bowed grandiosely to Cullen. “I do apologize, good sir,” he said loudly. Rhea lost interest, and Branson walked towards Cullen. He whispered in Cullen’s ear as he passed. “Fuck off, Cullen.” 

Cullen didn’t so much as turn his head. “I think you meant to say, fuck off,  _ Commander  _ Cullen.”

Branson laughed somewhere behind his back. “I’m glad to see all those years as an exalted Commander haven’t knocked all the bastard out of you.”

“I’d expect it would do the opposite,” chipped in Mia. “How often have you met an authority figure you actually liked?”

“Cullen is the first,” called Branson, as he rejoined his wife across the yard.

The second fight was to feature Branson’s son, Devon, and Evelyn. “What do you think of my odds, Commander?” asked Evelyn, as she positioned herself a few feet from Devon. 

“I think you’ve never used a sword in your life,” said Cullen. He didn’t mention the fact that she’d be fighting small child.

“Actually,” said Evelyn, “I have.”

She held the wooden sword out before her, angled slightly forward. She focused on Devon, waiting for him to make his first move. In the sort of attack you’d expect from a five year old, he lunged directly towards her, jabbing the sword at her middle. She dodged out of the way with more flair than was strictly necessary. She stumbled for just a moment, though anyone who hadn’t watched her fight as often as he had wouldn’t have caught it. She still hadn’t entirely recovered her balance since she’d lost part of her arm. Still, she moved on smoothly and continued her tale. 

“When I was growing up, my parents wanted more than anything for me to be  _ useful _ to them. What that really meant, of course, is that they wanted me to marry some nice, noble boy with lots of connections that could make my family stronger.” She spoke archly, as if she was a character telling a tale, but Cullen knew enough of her past to know that what she was saying was, so far at least, true.

This time, when Devon jabbed at Evelyn she turned her sword down to block him. He jabbed again and she blocked again. He backed away, considering his opponent more closely.

“When it became clear that I was planning to disgrace them and all their hopes, my Uncle suggested they teach me a different sort of skill. I might not bring them the connections they wanted, but perhaps I could still be useful to them in a different way. I could dispatch their enemies, or maybe they could send me out to threaten other foes into submission. I could be their mindless little thug. Either that or I would join the Chantry in some form and strengthen their religious connections.” Evelyn smirked. “It didn’t work out for them, clearly.” 

Evelyn made a half-hearted jab. Devon slashed violently at her sword with his own.

“They started by finding a sword master to teach me. He figured out rather quickly that my skills were more well suited to a different sort of combat, but still, I did train with a sword for a short time.” 

Devon made a series of wild swings with his sword. Evelyn dodged most of them, but finally she allowed him a hit. She fell to the ground, greatly exaggerating her pain, though certainly taking a wild blow to the shin from a violent five year old’s wooden sword had to have actually hurt a bit. 

Devon held his sword to her throat. “Yield,” he said.

“I yield,” she said. She sat up. “Perhaps it’s time I start practicing with a sword again. Dual-wielding blades isn’t exactly an option anymore.” She said it with startlingly little bitterness. Cullen never ceased to be impressed by his wife’s perseverance. 

“Your family must be very disappointed in you now, Lady Trevelyan,” called Branson. “Marrying a penniless wretch like Cullen.”

Mia objected before Cullen could. “He’s not penniless,” she called. “He helped lead the Inquisition for years. That practically makes him a Lord, doesn’t it? I’m sure he’s swimming in the finest of jewels and mountains of gold.”

“Did you really pay him, Lady Trevelyan?” asked Branson. “Wasn’t putting up with that dour look on his face every day payment enough? Not to mention what you had to deal with by night.”

Cullen couldn’t decide if he’d rather kill his brother or go into hiding.

“It can’t be worse than what Rhea has to put up with by night,” said Rosalie. For a moment, everyone was surprised into silence. Rosalie was normally the closest thing to a perfect lady the family had. Then, all at once, everyone burst into laughter. Everyone but Branson.

As the tournament got back underway, Cullen turned to Mia, amused. “Remind me again why I decided to visit, when I spend every other moment being mocked by the siblings who are supposed to love me?” He meant it as a joke. He didn’t realize what a stupid thing it was to say until after it was out of his mouth.

“We do have fifteen years of mockery to make up for,” said Mia simply.

“I didn’t mean—” Cullen sighed. “I meant it as a joke. I wasn’t actually complaining.”

“Yes,” said Mia. “I know.” She stared straight ahead. “I shouldn’t have said that. It just sort of came out.”

“You weren’t wrong to say it,” said Cullen.

Neither of them seemed to know how to continue at this juncture. Things had been as close to easy as could be expected since they’d last discussed the many years he’d spent neglecting his family. He’d known they hadn’t finished their conversation, known it would come up again some day, but how could he have been so stupid as to veer them towards it when they’d been getting along so well?

Cullen took a deep breath. “I know it won’t make up for anything, but I can at least try to explain—”

Mia shook her head vehemently. “You don’t have to explain anything.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“It is.” Mia paused, as if searching for the right words. “I know something happened to you. While you were in the Circle. Here in Fereldon. I don’t know exactly what, but . . . we still get news here. Or at least rumors. We heard things about Kirkwall too. And the stories we heard . . . I’ll admit, I was relieved when you told me you’d left the Templars. Especially with the things we started to hear about them afterwards.”

“That’s one decision I don’t regret,” he agreed. Both of them stared ahead, pretending to watch the tournament, though Cullen would bet Mia saw as little of it as he did. It seemed to have devolved into madness at some point. Everyone was battling now in a mass of twirling fighting and blunt, slashing blades. “I know it must sound selfish,” he continued, “but part of me is glad we didn’t see each other for all those years. I don’t think you would have liked the person I’d become. Even I don’t like who I was in those days. I was hateful. For years.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“It’s the truth,” said Cullen. “If you ever go to Kirkwall, you’re welcome to ask around. I didn’t leave behind many friends. Truly, if you would have seen me . . . You had enough to deal with here. I’m grateful I didn’t have to add anything more to the burdens you already had.”

Mia laughed. It was a horrible, twisted sound, and he knew he had misspoke. “You didn’t add to my burdens? Really?” She tapped her fingers frenetically against the arms of her false throne before slamming both hands down and pushing herself to her feet. “I’ve had enough of this,” she said. She turned and retreated to her house with quick strides. The tournament had come to a full stop, and the entire family stared after her. Cullen had just enough time to catch Evelyn’s eye before he followed in his sister’s wake. 

“Mia.”

“Go away, Cullen.” She attempted to slam the door in his face. He caught it, but barely managed to keep his fingers from being crushed in the door jamb. 

“Mia, I’m sorry.”

She continued to storm through her house. “Of course you are. You’re always sorry. For all the good it’s done either of us.” 

“If you don’t want me to apologize, what do you want?”

“For you to leave me alone!” She’d stopped by the kitchen table, facing away from him. Reaching out, she grabbed the seat cushion from the nearest chair. She turned and it hurled it at Cullen. He caught it easily. Normally he would have laughed at how his basic reflexes clearly irritated her, but at the moment that didn’t seem wise. Not to mention, now that she was facing him, he realized something far more serious. Mia Rutherford was crying. It was something he’d seen so rarely, he hardly knew what to do. 

Maker’s breath. He’d made his sister cry. What was the matter with him? “I didn’t mean to . . .”

“You’re sorry. You didn’t mean to. You just thought the lot of us would be  _ better off  _ without you for  _ fifteen years _ . Honestly, do you think about the things you say?”

He wanted to say he hadn’t meant they were better off without him, but he didn’t think she would like that. And he also wasn’t sure he hadn’t meant it. So he said nothing.

Mia pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, and Cullen stood for a long moment, waiting stupidly. She took a deep gasping breath and looked at Cullen again. He hated how miserable she looked, and he hated how useless he was at dealing with this sort of thing. He could respond more easily to an invading army than he could his crying sister.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “After the blight,” she said, “I’m ashamed to admit we didn’t think much about you for a time. Everything was just horrible. Our parents were dead. We had to leave home. And the three of us were just a few among many. People were still dying left and right. Children were starving or dying of exposure. And there we were, caught in the middle of this flood of refugees without any parents. Just like lots of other people. And we got here. And I had to—I had to figure everything out. Rosalie was a mess. Understandably. She was still just a girl, really. And Branson did what he could, but he was just as distraught. And I—I had to protect them. Make sure they survived. And when we did start to think about you, it was to be grateful that you were with the Circle.” She huffed out a bitter laugh. “We couldn’t think of many places you’d be safer than in a tower full of powerful mages and trained Templars. I wrote you a letter to let you know we’d survived, and that was that.”

Mia leaned against the table behind her. “Then the news from the Tower started to trickle in. By the time it reached South Reach it was all just rumors and hearsay. And it was horrible. The things people were saying . . . And the worst part was that every story was different. There wasn’t any way to tell what, if any of it, was true. One person would say the mages had rebelled and burned the tower to the ground with all the Templars within. The next would say the darkspawn had arrived and the Hero of Ferelden showed up just in time to save a handful of people. And the next person would say demons had taken control of the Tower, tortured the Templars, and then slaughtered every last one of them. The only common theme was that, one way or another, the Templars had suffered terribly.” 

She’d begun to speak with a sort of detachment. It was easy for him to recognize. It was the voice of a person who’d suffered too much and was trying her best not to relive it. He’d thought all along that his sister was justified in some anger towards him, but he began to realize now how truly cruel his neglect of them had been, especially in the years following the Blight.

“That letter I’d sent, we never heard back. Of course we didn’t. So I wrote again. Just to see if anyone could tell me what happened to you. No one responded. They apparently had more important things to do than console a worried sister. I thought then you must be dead. If you were alive, you would have let us know you were safe. You could have figured out where we’d gone. Surely someone in the Chantry could have helped you find out where the refugees from our town had fled. But months went by and we didn’t hear anything from you. We just heard more and more stories about what had happened at the Tower. And I thought— It was easy to believe you were dead. It made too much sense. You had to be one of the youngest Templars in the Tower. If so many others had died, why should I assume you had lived? Rosalie’s the only one who never stopped believing. She always thought you were alive. Things were just mixed up, she’d say. You hadn’t found us yet. But I didn’t believe her. Eventually Branson didn’t either. 

“And then one day, a new Sister arrived in our local Chantry. She’d come all the way from Kirkwall. Wanted to tend to the needs of a more rural flock, apparently. We introduced ourselves. And between hearing our family name and seeing Branson’s face, something must have clicked. She asked if we were related to Knight-Captain Cullen of Kirkwall. You may not have made many friends there, but she certainly sang your praises. She said you were so devoted to the faith that sometimes you’d spend hours in the Chantry praying. And that’s how we found out you were still alive. From a random member of the Chantry, two years later.”

“I’d apologize again,” said Cullen. “But I don’t think it would help.”

Mia sighed. She pulled out a chair and sat down. “I didn’t tell you all that to make you feel guilty.”

“Then why did you tell me?”

Mia pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped at her eyes. “I don’t know. I wanted you to understand. We may not have faced the same horrors for all these years, but we haven’t had it easy here either. And you can talk to us about it. To me. If you want. Or not. And I also don’t like to hear you implying that hearing from you or seeing you would have made us unhappy. You’re our brother. We always want to hear from you, no matter what you’re going through.  _ Especially _ if you’re going through something.”

Cullen nodded. “I know,” he said. “And I don’t think that will be a problem in the future.”

“Good,” she said. “I suppose I have Evelyn to thank for that. You’ve been much better at writing since she’s been part of your life.”

“She’s always asking about you,” agreed Cullen. “And reminding me to write. But what I meant is, Evelyn and I are thinking about moving to South Reach. Once we’re sure our duties up north are cleared up.”

Mia stared at him. “What?” she asked.

“We’re thinking about—”

“And you’re just mentioning this now? You’ve been here for days!” She shot to her feet and headed for the door. “Bastard,” she cursed, as she threw open the door. Once again, Cullen found himself trailing her helplessly. Outside, Branson stood by the front window, clearly trying to eavesdrop on their argument.

“You know,” said Branson, “if we’re complaining about Cullen, I’d like to add—”

“Oh, shut up, Branson,” snapped Mia. She turned to the rest of the family. “Cullen and Evelyn are thinking about moving into town,” she announced. “Please tell me I’m not the only one who didn’t know this.”

Everyone looked as surprised as she had. 

“We hadn’t told anyone yet,” said Cullen.

“Good,” said Mia.

“If you don’t want us to—”

“Of course I want you to. I’m delighted,” she snapped. She still sounded rather angry, but he supposed he would have to take her word for it.

“You know,” said Devon, who was still holding one of the wooden swords. “You’re not doing a very good job of protecting her.”

Cullen stared at the boy, utterly confused. 

“She’s the Queen,” continued Devon. “You’re supposed to be Commander of her Royal Guard. Remember? Guards aren’t supposed to make the Queen cry.”

“I suppose you’re right,” said Cullen. Then an idea struck him. “I’ve offended her. Maybe she should challenge me to a duel.”

Mia turned on him. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? What a wonderful opportunity for you to show off your magnificent swordplay while beating down your defenseless sister.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Fine,” said Mia. “I challenge you. Prepare yourself, Commander.”

Devon handed her his sword and Evelyn handed one to Cullen. “Be careful,” she whispered, as she handed it over. Apparently no one around here believed he had enough self restraint not to stab his family members through the heart at the first opportunity. Even with a wooden sword.

The moment he had the sword in his hand, wooden or not, he found himself testing its weight, finding his balance. Mia was tossing hers from hand to hand, looking ready to bash his head in. He turned from her, intending to put a few paces between them. As he walked, he began to think ahead. He was used to fighting with a shield, but— 

The edge of a wooden sword thwacked him in the upper back. “Ow!” He turned around. Mia held the tip of her sword to his throat.

“Surrender,” she demanded.

“That’s not how duels work.”

“Nobody said I had to play fair. Besides, this was hardly a fair match to begin with. I did what I had to do to win. Now drop your sword.”

For a moment Cullen considered how easy it would be to disarm her and claim the victory for himself. But that was stupid. He’d already made his sister cry today. He could at least give her this.

“All right.” He dropped his sword. A ragged cheer went up from the family.

“The Queen is victorious,” announced Mia. She held her sword grandly aloft. “Now to deal with my treacherous brother.”

“Treacherous? If anyone is treacherous—”

“How should I punish the Commander for daring to defy me?” she asked the crowd.

“Have mercy,” said Devon. Rosalie echoed him.

“Death,” shouted Branson.

“Throw him in the stocks,” said Evelyn. Rhea cheered in agreement.

“Really, Evelyn?” he asked.

“I think you’d look very pretty in the stocks.”

“That’s not—”

“I’ve made my decision,” announced Mia. “I’ll show mercy today.”

Branson booed.

Mia held her arms out. “All is forgiven, brother. Let us embrace before the common folk—”

“Actually, I’m a Lord,” interrupted Branson.

Mia glared. It was a look she was quite good at. “ _ Let us embrace _ , to show there is no ill-will between us.”

And despite the game, it was a real hug. Mia practically knocked him over with the force of it. “I’m happy you’re home,” she said into his shoulder.

“So am I,” said Cullen.


	3. Stealth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Branson challenges Evelyn. Cullen and Mia discuss the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a single chapter. Then it became two. For some reason I couldn't resist writing a third. Chapter 3 is truly the final chapter.

When Branson had been gone an hour, Cullen decided to go looking for him. It wasn’t that he was worried for his brother. Cullen had sent along his Mabari with strict orders to protect the man. Even if Branson stumbled into a den of bears he was willing to bet the dog could fight its way free. So Cullen wasn’t worried. He’d just been looking for an excuse to escape. 

The rest of the family had been gathered together, having an innocent enough conversation. Rosalie, who had always rather romanticized the idea of nobility, had been questioning Evelyn about the particulars of her childhood in Ostwick. Cullen had tried to seem interested, he did enjoy hearing about Evelyn’s life before he’d known her, but he didn’t particularly enjoy listening to her answer question after question about every meal that had ever been prepared for her, or the particular shade of mauve coloring the curtains in her childhood bedroom, or, worst of all, the seemingly endless gossip and scandal that apparently dominated the lives of nobles everywhere. It was difficult for Cullen to imagine Evelyn, who had spent most of their acquaintance decked out in armor, leather, and knives as long as his forearm, ever fitting in amongst such people. 

His distaste for the subject must have shown on his face. He’d never been much good at acting. It was one among a hundred reasons he was lucky not to have been born into the nobility.

“What’s the matter, Cullen?” Mia had asked. “You can’t be bothered to participate in the conversation if we’re not discussing the fine art of war?”

Evelyn laughed. “It’s not that,” she assured Mia. “Cullen has had one too many bad experiences with nobles.” She said it in such a way that his family was guaranteed to question her. 

“Do tell,” said Rhea. She was lounging on the ground with Devon cuddled to her side, napping.

Cullen had hoped, foolishly, that the conversation wasn’t headed to Orlais. Evelyn positively grinned, and he knew his worst suspicions had been correct. “Poor Cullen has loads of admirers in Orlais,” she said. “Half the nobility there want to marry him.”

“That’s not—certainly not  _ half  _ of them.” 

“You’re joking.” Mia’s eyes were wide as saucers. 

“ _ At least _ half of them,” said Evelyn. “The Inquisition attended a ball at the Winter Palace once. Cullen spent the entire time standing against the wall, glowering at everyone, yet every time I passed by someone or other was propositioning him.”

As one, the women broke into raucous laughter. 

“No one was propositioning—”

“And then,” continued Evelyn, “after we got back to Skyhold, the Inquisition received multiple inquiries into his lineage from  _ interested parties _ . Really, it’s a wonder I managed to marry him at all without having to fight a dozen duels.”

And so the conversation had continued. When he’d told the women he was going to find Branson, he wasn’t even sure they’d heard him over the sounds of their laughter.

In the end, it wasn’t difficult to find his brother. He just followed the sound of barking. 

“No,” shouted Branson, from somewhere between the trees. “No! You’re not supposed to—”

“Lucky,” called Cullen. “Come.”

_ Lucky. _ It was a ridiculous name for a dog, particularly a Mabari. Evelyn had suggested it.  _ Because luck is on our side _ , she had said.  _ Remember? And besides, he’s lucky to have found you. Just like I am. _ And how was he supposed to argue with that?

He heard the dog coming long before he saw him, trampling anything in his path as he barreled through the woods and skidded to a halt by Cullen’s feet. Lucky sat promptly and gazed up at him.

“Good boy,” said Cullen. He knelt down and patted the dog’s head. Lucky wagged the nub of his tail. 

Branson came stumbling through the trees a few moments later. A wooden bow and a quiver hung over one shoulder. His clothes and face were streaked with mud. He wiped it from his eyes as he approached. 

“That beast is a demon disguised as a dog,” he said. 

Both men looked at the dog in question, who continued to sit calmly before Cullen, his tail the only part of him that betrayed the fact that he wasn’t a statue. Cullen raised a single brow.

“I’m telling you,” said Branson. “There I was, this beautiful ram in my sights, and  _ Lucky _ ,” he glared accusingly at the dog, “just went barking mad. Literally. Apparently he’d spotted a nug. It was behind me. And he didn’t bother to go around me when he took off in pursuit of it.” Branson attempted to shake more mud off his arms.

“And you just happened to be standing in a mud puddle when this happened?”

“I was hunting. I know in your cushy Inquisition job you probably never had to get a speck of mud on your fancy boots, but—”

Cullen held up his hands in surrender. “All right,” he said. But he couldn’t quite stop himself from getting in one more jab. “Apparently you should have kept your lucky coin all those years ago. Maybe you’d have ended up with the cushy Inquisition job and the fancy boots, and I’d be the one covered in mud and Maker knows what else right now.”

“Oh, very funny,” said Branson. “I give you all my luck and you pay me back by sending me off to hunt with a misbehaving war dog.”

“He’s very well behaved,” said Cullen. “You just need to have a more  _ commanding  _ personality.”

“I’ll have you know that I have a  _ very _ commanding personality.” He slipped in another patch of mud as he spoke and almost fell to the ground. Cullen did his best not to laugh in his brother’s face. 

They walked together in quiet for a few minutes, as Branson attempted to regather what dignity he could. “I’m surprised you remember that coin,” said Branson eventually. “I’d almost forgotten about it myself.”

“I kept it for years,” admitted Cullen. “When I was with the Order it was the only thing I had from home. Other than the dozens of letters from Mia, of course.” 

Branson smiled grimly. “Yes, I’ve never seen anyone write so many pleasant letters in such a rage. You should have seen her. She wasted so much good paper over the years. She’d be sitting there writing, and everything would be perfectly normal, and then she’d just start muttering about why she wrote at all when her miserable brother wouldn’t bother to write back for six months, and the next thing you knew there’d be a hole in the page and she’d have to start over. Or she’d start writing these horribly aggressive letters, and then she’d realize halfway through that she couldn’t possibly send them, and she’d scrap it all and try again. Once, I read one of her discards and there wasn’t any  _ Dear Cullen _ or any of that nonsense, it just started with  _ You Selfish Bastard,  _ and it got worse from there. And then she ended up sending some lovely letter about how wonderful everything was and how desperately she hoped you were staying safe. It was the greatest transformation I’ve ever witnessed.”

Cullen took a moment to wallow in his guilt. “That reminds me of the letter she wrote after she found out I’d left Ferelden.”

“ _ Oh _ , I remember that one. She was in a mood for weeks after we found out you were in Kirkwall. You’ve never seen someone angrier to find out their brother was still alive. But then you finally wrote back, full of apologies and questions about the family, and it was like it had never happened. She was back to normal, just like that. Or as close to normal as any of us were at the time.” He glanced at Cullen meaningfully.

It was odd to talk to Branson about these things. He spoke so matter-of-factly about those years, while the others, Cullen included, tiptoed around them or avoided speaking of them until they reached a breaking point. His brother’s attitude was strangely refreshing.

Just then, something seemed to occur to Branson. “You said you kept my coin for years,” he said. “Does that mean you got rid of it eventually?”

The shift in conversation was so jarring that it took Cullen a moment to gather his thoughts. “I gave it to Evelyn,” he admitted. 

“You gave my lucky coin to Evelyn?” demanded Branson.

“You mean the random coin you just happened to find in your pocket?”

“You admitted it was lucky!” said Branson. 

“She needed it more than I did.” And she had. It was still difficult for him to believe she’d survived the things she had. It was difficult to believe that any of them had survived.

“So you just gave it away. Our family heirloom.”

“ _ Our _ —you didn’t even know you had it in your pocket! Now it’s an heirloom?” 

“I’d be careful how you speak to me,” advised Branson. “Don’t forget I’m single handedly responsible for your survival  _ and  _ the survival of your wife.”

“ _ Single-handedly responsible _ —”

“And what did Evelyn do with the world’s luckiest artifact? Did she toss it to some beggar with a sob story in the Hinterlands?”

“I have it right here,” said Evelyn, appearing from behind a tree.

“Maker’s breath,” swore Cullen. He turned away for a moment in a poor attempt to cover his shock. Branson cursed loudly and jumped half a foot in the air. Lucky barked cheerily.

“I thought the two of you were supposed to be hunting,” said Evelyn, stepping fully from the shadows, unfazed by their alarm. “I could hear you bickering from half a mile away.”

Branson straightened himself, as if his heart hadn’t almost given out a moment ago. “Well, I wouldn’t expect you to know anything about hunting real game,” he said. “If we were hunting dragons or something—”

“Dragons aren’t real game?”

“Any fool with one eye can track a dragon,” said Branson. “They set fire to everything in their path and leave behind” —he struggled to finish his sentence— “the bones of children, or something. Not to mention they like to fly about and show off all the day long. Now a ram is for proper hunters.”

“You realize that when I was the Inquisitor I wasn’t carried from place to place in a palanquin? I had to trek about everywhere and I had to hunt for dinner quite often. I know how to track and kill a ram.”

“I sense a challenge,” said Branson. “Let’s see who brings home dinner first.”

“You’re on,” said Evelyn, a glint in her eyes. She took off into the woods.

Cullen looked at his brother. “You’re an idiot,” he said. 

Branson snorted. “She can’t even use a bow. What’s she going to do? Jump on its back and stab it?”

“She’s going to win,” said Cullen, “one way or another.” He began to follow Branson as he set off in the opposite direction from Evelyn.

“Oh no,” said Branson. “You and that monster dog of yours can head home. I don’t need him barking at everything that moves, and I don’t need you tramping through the forest behind me. Templars aren’t exactly known for their stealth.”

“I’m not a Templar. ”

“Close enough,” said Branson. 

Cullen would have liked to argue more, but in reality his brother wasn’t wrong. Cullen was accustomed to heavy armor, a shield, and a sword. He’d been trained to be direct and efficient in combat, not to be silent or covert. So, he went home to wait out Evelyn’s inevitable victory.

Mia was in the kitchen when Cullen got back. He’d quickly realized it was one of his sister’s favorite places to be, probably because she got to stab lots of things with knives and beat other things with her fists without getting herself into any trouble.

Lucky bounded past him and leapt onto Mia, heaving his massive paws atop her shoulders. She swayed under the dog’s weight, but she managed to stay on her feet. She scratched his flank vigorously while cooing.

“ _ Oh, you’re such a good boy _ ,” she said. 

He plopped into a sit and looked up at her expectantly. 

“I suppose you want a treat?” she asked.

Lucky barked.

“You’ll spoil him,” complained Cullen.

“I’m afraid this is all I have for the moment,” she told Lucky, handing over half a carrot from the tabletop.

The dog snatched it eagerly from her fingers.

“You’re supposed to be a war dog,” Cullen reminded him.

Lucky looked him in the eye, chomped rebelliously on his prize, and trotted away to snack in private.

Mia wiped her hands on her apron and returned to her work. “Where’s Branson?” she asked. “And more importantly, where’s our dinner? If he doesn’t kill something your last meal with us is going to rely rather too heavily on vegetation.”

“Apparently my  _ tramping about the forest  _ was preventing him from finding any game.”

Mia snorted. “Normally I’d say that was just an excuse, but he’s not wrong about you.” She pointed at him with her knife. Cullen knew her too well not to be a bit menaced by the gesture. “You move like someone who expects everything else to get out of your way. I suppose when you’re a mighty Commander you can just look at one of your soldiers hard enough and they’ll scamper out of your path.”

“I  _ have _ done that,” admitted Cullen.

“What?” Mia set down the knife she’d been wielding. “I was joking. You can’t actually have done that.”

“I did,” said Cullen. “I was in the middle of . . . something. And he came bursting in. So I glared at him silently, and he backed away.”

“He backed away? You’re saying he didn’t even turn around as he was leaving? He walked backwards away from you?”

“Yes,” said Cullen.

“What were you doing that was so important that you couldn’t just tell the poor man to go away?”

Somehow Cullen hadn’t expected her to ask that. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was—Evelyn and I were—”

Mia held up a hand. “That’s enough. You don’t need to tell me any more.”

“We weren’t—”

“I really don’t want to hear it.” She laughed despite herself. “Maker’s breath, Cullen.” She continued with her work for a moment, chopping and dicing. Her eyes grew distant as a vicious smile began to curl at the corner of her mouth. 

“I know that look,” said Cullen. “You’re planning something, and I have a feeling I want nothing to do with it.”

“I was just thinking of ways we could use your powers for good,” she assured him. For some reason he wasn’t assured at all. “How about next time I go into the village, we dress you up in your finest armor, you dig out that fancy sword of yours, and you come glare at some people?”

“I’m not going to intimidate the townsfolk for you.”

“No one said anything about intimidating anyone. You’re just going to look at them. The butcher overcharges everyone anyway. And Branson’s no good at this sort of thing. He may look like you, but he doesn’t have your” —she gestured at Cullen vaguely— “your air of authority. He’s never had to be in charge of anyone. First he had our parents to tell him what to do, then he had me, and now he has Rhea.”

“This doesn’t sound like using my powers for good,” he protested.

“It would be good for us. It’s all about point-of-view. No matter what you do you’re a villain in someone’s eyes. Surely you know that better than I do.”

Cullen shook his head. “Remind me never to cross you.”

Mia grinned. “Especially now that you’ve taught me a proper punch.”

“I’m beginning to think I created a monster,” he agreed. “By the time Evelyn and I return, you’ll have taken over all of South Reach with only your fists and your temper.”

Mia’s smile faded. “And when will you be returning, exactly?”

Cullen leaned against the nearest wall. “It’s hard to say,” he admitted. “The Inquisition may have disbanded, but there are still some issues that require our attention. And I have a request I’d like to bring before Divine Victoria.”

Mia stared at him for a moment. She huffed out a laugh. “I forget sometimes that I have a brother who is friends with the Divine,” she said simply. “Who could ever have predicted that?”

“Certainly not me,” said Cullen.

“Am I allowed to ask what request you have to bring before the Divine? Or is it some sort of confidential, potentially world ending secret?”

Cullen laughed. “It’s nothing like that. It’s . . . a personal request. With everything that’s happened, I was hoping the Chantry could do more for—well, for people like me, I suppose. Former Templars. Those who wish to leave the Order. Or even those who are too far gone to serve it any longer.” 

Mia pushed some of her chopped vegetables idly about with her knife. “When you left the Templars,” she said, “we never had a chance to discuss it. Not really.  _ People like you _ . That doesn’t just mean people who want to leave the Order, does it?” 

“I stopped taking lyrium,” he admitted. “As soon as I left the Order I stopped.”

“I didn’t know that was possible,” said Mia.

“I didn’t know either,” said Cullen. “But I had to try.”

“Of course you did.” It didn’t sound like a compliment the way she said it. Mia considered him through narrowed eyes. “You don’t seem to have gone mad.”

“I think coming to your home after not visiting for fifteen years was at least a bit mad.”

She laughed. “A bit,” she admitted. “But it would have been madder to stay away much longer. I would have tracked you down in person eventually. And then you would really have been sorry.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Though the Inquisition had been disbanded, it almost made him smile to imagine Mia showing up at Skyhold, banging on the gates and demanding to be taken to their bastard of a Commander.

Mia sighed. “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “After all the apologizing you’ve done since you arrived, I probably owe you an apology as well.”

“For what?” This should be interesting.

“After we found you, in Kirkwall, the letter I sent you may have been a bit . . . harsh.”

“Were  _ you _ eavesdropping in the woods as well?” 

“What?” The confusion on her face seemed genuine.

“Branson and I were just discussing that letter.”

Mia raised a brow. “And what did he have to say about it?”

“That he’d never seen anyone so angry to find out her brother was alive.” He smiled thinly as he said it. Cullen could understand why she’d felt that way.

“I was,” admitted Mia. She almost seemed sheepish. It was strange. “But better angry than the alternative. Still, all things considered, I could have been kinder. I’m sorry I called you stupid.”

“That’s the bit you’re apologizing for?”

“The rest of what I wrote was true,” said Mia, smiling.

It was a terrible apology, but Cullen didn’t really mind. “I have to admit, it was good to hear from you anyway. It always was. Even when I didn’t respond, I—well, I appreciated your letters.”

Just then there was a ruckus in the front of the house. The door burst open, and Cullen found himself reaching for a sword he wasn’t wearing. Mia didn’t react. Apparently people came bursting into her home regularly. 

But it was only Evelyn. The front of her was covered in blood. “Dinner has arrived,” she announced boldly. Branson followed behind, similarly bloody, but looking rather downcast. “I won,” said Evelyn, in response to Cullen’s questioning glance.

“I did warn him,” said Cullen.

Mia selected a new, larger knife from her collection. “Who’s going to help me prepare dinner?” she asked, heading for the door. Evelyn followed. As they went out, Cullen could hear Devon outside, exclaiming over the ram Branson and Evelyn had dragged back from the woods.

“It’s not a very large ram,” said Branson, sullen.

Cullen snorted. “Still a sore loser, then?”

“It wasn’t exactly a fair match.”

“I told you she would win. Do you remember when I called you an idiot?”

“Your wife is a mage,” said Branson.

That was the last thing Cullen had expected his brother to say. “What?” he asked.

“ _ She’s a mage _ ,” said Branson, slowly, as if Cullen might be too stupid to understand.

“No,” said Cullen, “she’s not.”

“Really? How do you explain her . . . abilities, then?”

“Last time I checked, tracking and killing a ram doesn’t require magic. And you already reminded me once today that I spent quite a number of years as a Templar. I think I know how to identify a mage.”

“Apparently you weren’t a very good Templar, then.”

“Come again?” Cullen’s mind was caught somewhere between disbelief, bewilderment, and personal affront.

“She didn’t track the ram. She tracked me. And then she killed it before I had the chance.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you think she’s a mage.”

“I was settling in to take a shot when she just appeared across the way from me.” He looked off into the distance, as if he could see it happening again before him. “She looked me dead in the eye. She winked at me. And then she just disappeared. And the next thing I knew she was standing next to the ram with her blade lodged in its heart. It didn’t even hear her coming.” Branson shook his head, as if he didn’t quite believe his own words.

“ _She_ _disappeared_?” Cullen infused every ounce of doubt he could manage into two words.

“She disappeared,” repeated Branson. “One minute she was standing across from me. The next minute she was—she was just gone, Cullen. She wasn’t there anymore. And then she appeared twenty feet from where she’d last been standing. Non-magical people don’t just walk up to wild animals and stab them through the heart without them noticing. Non-magical people don’t just disappear into thin air.”

“Mages don’t do that either,” noted Cullen. “They’re usually very showy. And they fight from a distance. Why would they need to disappear?”

“Then how do you explain what I saw?” demanded Branson.

“I could think of quite a few explanations that don’t involve magic. Most likely you’re going mad. Or maybe you hit your head a bit too hard when Lucky knocked you from your feet. Or maybe you were in the middle of the woods, and the darkness played a trick on your eyes.”

“I wasn’t imagining things,” said Branson emphatically.

“Evelyn is a stealth fighter,” explained Cullen. “She’s very good at sneaking up on people and stabbing them in their vital bits. That’s all you saw.”

“But she—” Branson sighed. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “That’s what she said to me as well.”

“We should go see if they need any help,” suggested Cullen.

Dinner was close to perfect. Devon had begged every last adventure tale out of Evelyn a dozen times by now, so for once she was relieved of the sole burden of entertaining everyone. Instead, it seemed to be Cullen’s turn.

“Tell us about when the two of you met,” suggested Rosalie. “The Commander and the Lady Inquisitor. I’m sure it must have been very romantic.”

“I don’t know if—” It wasn’t that Cullen didn’t like talking about Evelyn, it was that he was never particularly comfortable discussing the private details of his life. Even with his family. And yet, one of the favorite pastimes of all of his family members seemed to be prying into such matters. Perhaps that’s how all families behaved.

“I’m willing to bet their meeting involved a lot of people getting stabbed very quickly,” said Branson. He eyed Evelyn warily. 

Evelyn smiled maniacally. “Not many people,” she clarified. “But I had just gotten done stabbing a lot of demons.”

“But what did you think of each other?” asked Rosalie, ever the romantic. She looked at Cullen. “You must have thought she was beautiful,” she said.

“Well, yes,” acknowledged Cullen, looking anywhere but at his family. “But we were in the middle of, well, a crisis. And she’d just been our prisoner. We didn’t exactly meet in ideal circumstances . . . 

“I thought he was very handsome,” said Evelyn, much to Rosalie’s delight. “Who doesn’t love a mysterious scar?”

Rhea nodded her agreement.

“It’s not mysterious,” objected Cullen. He glanced at Evelyn. “You could have asked me about it at any time. Within days of our meeting you’d already asked me every other prying question you could think of.”

“But then it would have stopped being mysterious,” explained Evelyn.

“Do you think I should get a scar too?” Branson asked his wife. “But then Cullen and I might look  _ too much  _ alike. Maybe if I got one over my eye instead . . .” He trailed off, considering the possibilities.

“And how do you plan to get an artful scar?” asked Rhea. “You don’t get in a lot of sword fights.”

“Maybe a falcon will swoop down and just miss taking my eye,” he suggested. 

“More likely it would be a chicken,” said Mia. Everyone laughed.

“Chickens,” argued Branson, “are vicious predators. I would be proud to walk away from a battle with a chicken with only a single scar to show for it.”

“What about after you met?” asked Rosalie, persistent in her quest to end the evening with a tale of romance. “Had it been love at first sight? Next time you saw each other did she swoon into your arms?”

Cullen smirked. “She doesn’t do a lot of swooning. And we didn’t see much of each other at Haven, other than when important decisions needed to be made.” Rosalie seemed disappointed. He decided he could throw her a bone. “Then we were attacked and she offered to stay behind to give everyone else time to get away. I thought she must be the bravest person I’d ever met.”

Rosalie was appropriately pleased by this detail.

“Anyway,” said Evelyn, “if anyone was going to swoon it would have been Cullen. I did try flirting with him a couple of times when we were still at Haven. He got very flustered. Especially when I asked him about what sort of vows he’d taken as a Templar.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. Cullen could feel himself flushing.

“You didn’t!” said Mia, scandalized. “Oh, poor Cullen. A noble lady flirting with you. You must have been horribly out of your depth.”

“Although I suppose it was good practice for your time in Orlais,” added Rhea.

The rest of the night went about the same way, everyone exchanging jabs back and forth until they were too tired or too drunk to continue. He wondered how he’d managed to stay away from home for so long. And why. It would be very difficult to leave in the morning, even knowing he would be coming back.

When dawn came Cullen and Evelyn were already out of bed, packing their things and readying the horses for their journey. Branson came to see them off. Rhea was hung over and Devon was still asleep. 

“Off to have more adventures?” asked Branson. “Or maybe to earn more mysterious scars?”

“Not if we can help it,” said Cullen.

“Only if we’re lucky,” said Evelyn.

Cullen glanced at Evelyn doubtfully. She smiled. That was a bad sign. She seemed to smile very often right before trouble of one kind or another set upon them.

“You  _ should _ be lucky,” said Branson. “Considering you’ve stolen my lucky coin.”

Cullen scoffed. “You can have it back if you like,” he offered.

“No, he can’t,” argued Evelyn.

“Then again,” said Branson, as if he hadn’t heard their last exchange, “I doubt any adventures could find their way to the pair of you if they tried. Anything that tries to get at you will meet a knife in the dark before it gets very far.”

“You’re not wrong,” said Cullen.

“Be safe,” added Branson, before he left. “Both of you.” He glanced down at Lucky. “All three of you,” he corrected. “You’d never live it down if Mia had to come rescue you.”

They hadn’t seen Mia yet this morning. She hadn’t been in the kitchen when they’d gotten up, and she hadn’t emerged from the house since. But they couldn’t just leave without saying goodbye. She would never forgive him for that.

When Cullen entered the house, Mia sat in a chair by the fire, just a silhouette against the light. “Shouldn’t you be gone already?” she asked.

He stood by the door. “Do you really think I’m stupid enough to leave without saying goodbye to you?”

“Evidently not,” said Mia. She paused. “You will come back,” she asked softly, “won’t you?”

“Of course we will,” said Cullen. “As soon as we possibly can.”

“It’s only . . . you’ve said as much before. And then fifteen years went by.”

“We won’t be gone any longer than we can help,” assured Cullen. “Evelyn wouldn’t allow it. And I wouldn’t want to be.”

Mia said nothing.

“Even if something came up,” said Cullen, “I would write to you. I swear it.”

“And if something happens to you?”

“Do you really think Evelyn would let anything happen to me? To either of us? This is the first time she’s ever had a family she actually likes. She doesn’t wish to leave any more than I do.”

Mia sighed. “I should come say goodbye to her, shouldn’t I?”

“If you don’t,” said Cullen, “she’ll probably come bursting in here, blade drawn.”

Mia followed him outside. She hugged Evelyn goodbye and wished her a safe journey. Evelyn promised to write her with all of the interesting tales from their journey, since Cullen, apparently, didn’t give enough details in his own letters. Mia patted Lucky on the head one last time before she turned to Cullen.

She took a deep breath. “You’ll be safe?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She nodded. “Well. Then—”

Cullen hugged her. She didn’t resist for more than a moment. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed herself close. 

“If you die,” she said, her voice muffled in his shoulder, “I’ll be very angry.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” assured Cullen.

Mia sighed and let him go. She looked up at him. “I’m proud of you, you know,” she said. “Whatever else has happened, you’ve done good things. And you’ve more to do yet. I just wish those things kept you a little closer to home.”

“In the future,” promised Cullen, “they will.”

“I suppose I’ll have to take your word for that.” She looked at him for a long moment. And then she punched him in the arm. It was a proper punch this time. He’d managed to teach her that much. The problem was, this time he was wearing armor. 

Mia shouted. And then she cursed, holding her hand out before her like a broken thing. Which it very well might be. Evelyn gasped somewhere behind him.

“Maker’s breath, Mia. Are you all right?” He reached for her instantly. She stepped back.

“Why are you wearing armor?” she demanded, still cradling her fingers. “Your poor horse.”

“We’re going on the road,” he explained, desperately. “We could be beset by bandits. Or wandering demons. Or—let me look at your hand, Mia.”

“No! Get—You’re not touching it. You’ve done enough damage already!”

“ _ I _ have? You’re the one who punched me!”

“You’re the one wearing armor. And hiding it under a cloak. You must have known this would happen.”

“How could I—You just hugged me. You didn’t notice I was wearing armor then? And why would I assume you’re going to punch me when I’m leaving?”

“Why would you assume anything else?”

There was a fair point in there somewhere.

“Just let me look at it. I have some experience with this sort of thing,” he argued. 

“Don’t brag to me about your military experience right now.”

“I’m not—Just let me look at it.”

Finally she acquiesced, hissing through her teeth all the while. Evelyn looked over his shoulder, cringing in sympathy. Mia’s knuckles were raw and bleeding. Around them her skin looked a bit red and swollen. He felt his way gingerly around her hand. She winced a few times, but amazingly nothing felt immediately broken. 

“I think you’ll be all right,” said Cullen. “You learned good form, at least. You must have had a good teacher.”

“Oh, shut up, Cullen. Really.”

He smirked. “Let me come inside and—”

“You don’t need to come inside. I’ll go to Rosalie. She’ll take care of me. She’s good at this sort of thing. Just get off my property already.”

“One minute you’re nearly crying as I leave—”

“I wasn’t going to cry. Just get out of here. Honestly.”

“Whatever you say,” he said. “Goodbye, Mia. I hope your hand feels better soon. I love you. I’ll see you soon.”

“I love you too,” snapped Mia. “Now go away before I regret not killing you in our duel when I had the chance.”

“You mean the duel that I let you win?” he asked.

“Just like when I took pity and finally started letting my little brother win at chess?” she asked. 

“You didn’t,” said Cullen. But he could hear the doubt in his voice. 

“I suppose you won’t know until you come back,” said Mia. “Now for the last time, goodbye.”

He climbed on his horse. He and Evelyn began to ride down the road, Lucky keeping pace easily beside them. He looked back. He couldn’t resist it. He needed to remind himself that he would be back here soon. Mia still stood by the road, wrapped in a shawl against the morning air and nursing her bleeding hand. She caught him looking.

She called out to him one last time. “Bastard,” she shouted.

Cullen smiled.


End file.
